


Rumour Mill

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Detective McClane, what do you have to say to the allegations that you're involved in a romantic relationship with Matthew Farrell?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumour Mill

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt "Warlock starts an online rumour that Matt & John are together"
> 
> * * *

"Detective McClane, how long was Gibbs under surveillance?"

"Are you concerned for your own safety, Detective?"

"McClane! McClane!"

"No comment," John says for the tenth time. He pushes his way through the crowd on the precinct steps, eyes the reporters for the goddamn sharks they are. Feels like he barely got through reading Gibbs his fucking rights before the reporters slithered out of the woodwork, shouting questions and shoving cameras and microphones in his face. 

"Detective McClane, will you be indicting the entire Gibbs family?"

"No comment."

"McClane, can we expect further indictments?"

John squints at the guy who shouted the last, some newb from the Post, still so wet behind the ears he's practically dripping. "Ya got a hearing problem? No comment."

"Detective McClane, what do you have to say to the allegations that you're involved in a romantic relationship with Matthew Farrell?"

"No—" John falters on his trajectory when the question registers, looks up quickly to meet the reporter's eyes. The woman stands with pen poised over her notepad, raises a sculpted blonde brow. The shouting voices fall silent, until the only thing that John can hear is the traffic whizzing by a few feet away and the clicking heels of a passerby on the pavement. The reporters turn toward him expectantly, practically salivating. Nothing like a juicy sex scandal to divert the goddamn parasites attention from the arrest of the head of one of the city's most notorious crime syndicates. 

John swallows, gets his damn feet moving again. "No comment."

They're all shouting about Farrell by the time he finally pulls away in his car.

* * *

Matt flicks quickly through the newsfeeds, catches glimpses of his name here and there before clicking back to the pages he's bookmarked. Three more articles since the last time he checked, and that was only half a bag of Doritos ago. He reaches for his soda while he reviews, again, how he's going to approach explaining this whole situation to John. Holding off until John's had dinner and is mellowed out with a couple of beers is probably his best option, but then he runs the risk of a _you knew this shit was going down and you didn't tell me_ type outburst.

He's biting his bottom lip and mentally running through the probable outcomes of four different scenarios when he hears the front door open. And slam shut.

A fifth and previously unthinkable scenario pops into his head at the sound. 

John might already know.

Matt shakes his head at that mental voice. He can't know. The news hasn't hit the television stations yet. The only mentions so far have been on the feeds and a few scattered web forums, most of which have to do with political intrigue and government conspiracies. John barely knows how to turn on his computer, never mind use the web app on his phone. And even if he did, he'd be checking the scores on espn.com, not lurking around in reddit's r/conspiracy thread.

"Matthew!"

Matt sits up straighter at the bellow, hastily shuts down the open tabs on his computer and tries to plaster a welcoming, completely innocent smile on his face. But when John appears in the office door still clad in his beat-up leather jacket, the cold emanating off him in waves and snow melting into the worn hall carpet from his caked boots, Matt knows that fifth inconceivable probability has actually proven to be true. He quickly holds up a hand while he tries to recalibrate his thinking. "Okay—" he begins.

"You wanna tell me," John says, "why I got reporters shouting at me about a goddamn love affair in the middle of 1PP?"

Okay, it's so much worse than he thought.

"It was a rumour," Matt says. "One of those 'which bald and burly City cop with an attitude is getting frisky with a floppy haired hacker' things. I tracked the original post back to one of the gaming sites. It was only online for, like, three minutes before the poster pulled it."

"Three minutes," John says dubiously.

"Three minutes is actually… well, in those three minutes it got screencapped by another user, and then it sort of went viral on a bunch of comms. Within the hour it got picked up by one of the newsfeeds, and then—"

"Jesus, kid. Speak English!"

Matt throws up his hands. "Basically, it spread around online and everybody was talking about it. It was only a matter of time before one of the legit news wires found it." 

"Legit." John snorts. "Gossip ain't news, Matthew."

"Yeah. Well." Matt spins around in his chair, stares at the blank computer screen. "It's not that big a deal, really. It'll run hot for a couple of days, and then Britney will get cornrows or flash her tits and everyone will forget all about it."

Matt doesn't even realize he's stiffened until John bends down over the chair to wrap his arms around him. He shivers when John's lips touch his neck. "Ah well," John says, breath warm against his ear. "I'm sick of hiding it, anyway."

"You… are?"

"Just wanted to come out my way." 

Matt gets that, he really does. But he can't deny that it's been a rough couple of months, always making sure that he doesn't stand too close when they're out and about, having to quell the urge to take John's hand when they're walking down the street. He told himself when his old man showed him the door at fifteen that he'd never hide who he is, and then along came John with all his issues and his baggage and…

It honestly feels like the proverbial weight has been lifted, and Matt smiles when John tightens his grip, shivers again when John presses his lips to his earlobe before straightening. He swivels in his chair in time to see John swipe a hand over his chin. "Jesus. This is not how I wanted Lucy to find out I'm fucking her ex-boyfriend."

"Okay, we went on _one_ date. One! And we spent the whole time talking about you!" Matt protests. Actually, they were barely at the sidewalk before Lucy was teasing him about the googly eyes John had been giving him before they left, and they spent most of that 'date' devising plans to get John into his bed. But John realllly doesn't need to know _that_. 

He can, however, set John's mind at ease in one way. He slips out of the chair, plants his palms on John's shoulders.

"Lucy already knows," he says.

"Jesus," John says again.

"It's Jack you have to worry about," Matt adds.

He watches John's eyes narrow. "You know," John says, "I wouldn't have to worry about any of this shit if somebody just kept his damn mouth shut and let me do this in my own time. Who was this… whatchamacallit… this 'original poster'?"

"John, it really doesn't—"

"Matt."

"In the grand scheme of things, is it truly important who—"

"Tell me," John growls.

Matt winces. "The Warlock."

* * *

"He knows," Matt says.

"Shit! I fucking knew it. Okay, I'm gone. I am a wisp in the fucking wind."

Matt shifts the phone to his other ear, huffs out a laugh. "You don't seriously think he's going to come after—"

"I outed John McClane, dude! The man threw a car at a helicopter. The man surfed on a jetfighter. The man shot himself in the motherfucking shoulder to get the bad guy! He saved the goddamn country, he's like America's Hero right now! You have any idea what he could do to a rotund computer specialist who made one tiny error in judgment?"

"You're not rotund," Matt says. "You've been doing really good on that slimfast diet."

"Fuck you, I'm fat. And this fat motherfucker is disappearing into the ether."

Matt frowns at the noise in the background, presses the phone closer to his ear. "Is that… a boarding announcement?"

"You know nothing!" Warlock hisses just before the phone goes dead.

Matt shakes his head as he thumbs off the cell, slips it into his pocket just as the doorbell rings. He glances into the dresser mirror, straightens his tie and swipes his sweaty palms on his slacks. He hears the door open and shut; then the low murmur of John's voice, Lucy's laugh. A deeper rumble that can only be Jack.

He darts a quick look at the window, does a quick calculation and figures he just might fit through the security bars. 

He swallows nervously, wonders if it's too late to join the Warlock. He's always wanted to see Aruba.


End file.
